After All
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: Future AU. "Our hands, they might age / And our bodies will change / But we'll still stay the same as we are."


**Universe: **Post-_The Following, _alternate ending

**Pairing: **(Elderly!)Claire Matthews/Ryan Hardy

**Summary:** Future AU. "Our hands, they might age / And our bodies will change / But we'll still stay the same as we are."

**Author's Note:** I just finished _Memoirs of a Geisha _and I am feeling very_**, **_very emotional (in a good way, for once!). Please enjoy! :)

. . .

She had fallen asleep on the couch, having tried and failed to wait up for him, when he finally returned home to their large and now almost completely empty home on the outskirts of Richmond. It seemed strange to live here now, since they had no children to take care of anymore, though many of their neighbors did. It was stranger still that it was just the two of them again; the holidays had seemed to stretch on so long while they were going on, but now that everyone was gone, they might as well have passed in the blink of an eye.

Though he knew it was really only an illusion, he could swear the house sounded more silent than usual tonight as he walked through it. Absent were the piercing screams and laughter that commonly accompanied the presence of his grandchildren. The sound of their running feet still seemed to echo a bit, if only in his mind, as he made his way from the front door to towards the back of the house.

He stopped walking and smiled when he saw her sleeping there on the couch—and for a minute, he didn't move, and instead just watched her. When he stood perfectly still, he could hear her snoring from across the room—though he would never tell her such a thing.

He wasn't left standing for long before she roused herself, shaking her head and pushing herself up off the cushions as if she'd just fainted in front of guests and was quickly trying to make herself presentable again. Her lips twitched in a little smile when she saw him, but she looked down to smooth out her clothes when she murmured, "Guess I dozed off a little bit. Sorry."

He shook his head, dismissing the unnecessary apology as he made his way across the room. He moved more slowly now that he used to; he supposed that was one of the taxes of old age. While it had bothered him at first—the transitory period was always the worst—he didn't mind it so much anymore. He didn't have much left in his life that required quick movement—nothing except all those little kids running around, and now that they were gone, too, he had the luxury of moving at his own pace once again.

"Did everyone make their plane?" she asked as she reached a hand back to massage some of the knots out of her neck. Sleeping on the couch was very uncomfortable; she hadn't done it in so many years that she'd forgotten that. It would've served her better to wait up for him in bed, she reflected, though she probably would've fallen asleep there, too.

He nodded, reaching a hand out to cup her bent elbow as he passed by so he could steady them both as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She smiled at the touch; for that moment while he kissed her, her neck didn't seem to hurt so bad.

"Everyone made it," he assured her. "Plenty of time."

"Good," she murmured, lifting her head up to him and feeling livelier now that that weighty worry was lifted. She never fretted over planes in the air; the biggest obstacle had always been catching them on the ground. She trusted pilots more than she trusted most people; they rarely had any ulterior motive than to get from point A to point B as quickly as possibly, and she didn't mind that motive so much.

"Come here." She patted the couch cushion beside her. "Sit with me for a bit."

"Why?" he wondered, the corners of his eyes crinkling kindly as he looked down at her. "So I can watch you fall asleep?" Though he was teasing, they both knew it would happen sooner or later, especially since she'd already succumbed once. But he sat down next to her anyway, and wrapped an arm around the back of the couch behind her. She could feel his fingers playing with the ends of her hair gently, but she didn't swat his hand away.

She had become very self-conscious of her hair when it had started to turn grey, and then white, and had mentioned many times that she didn't look the same as she once had—meaning, of course, that she didn't look _as good_—with "old woman hair," as she called it, than with her previously blonde hair. In his quiet way, he liked to show her that he liked the way she looked no matter what color her hair was. She had had a brief flirtation with dyeing it, and he had had a hard time telling her how nice that perfect, young blonde color had looked with her aged-weathered visage. It had looked unnatural, but he hadn't known how to say that nicely and he never liked to hurt her feelings. Luckily, she had deduced the same for herself and had quickly reversed the process.

"What are you thinking of?" he wondered, scooting himself closer to her until their legs brushed up against one another's.

"Nothing," she murmured, laying her head on his shoulder. She took a second to get comfortable, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She made a point to settle herself against him in a way that she could still look out in front of them, and view all the pictures mounted on the fireplace and the walls before them.

He followed her gaze, looking out at all the faces that smiled back at him, and at her, and was happy to see that even though she'd fallen asleep alone while they'd all been gone, she'd still been surrounded by family in a way.

Most years, she accompanied the kids, all the kids, to the airport when they all took off, but she'd felt more exhausted than usual today, and had instead said her goodbyes at the house. She'd had big smiles for the grandchildren, who swarmed her and called out goodbyes and thank-yous to their beloved Nana, but those carefree smiles had faltered a bit when she'd said goodbye to her own kids. She had never liked leaving them, and she liked it even less when _they _left _her_.

"Call me when you're home safe," she had whispered after letting them go from very tight hugs. (She was still very strong, despite her age. Her husband called it "one of life's little surprises," usually with a wince, after a playful blow she'd aimed at his arm landed a little harder than expected.) "Both of you be sure to call me. Okay?"

Dutifully they had nodded, promising to do so, though everyone knew it would be very late by the time they each got home, and that she would most likely be asleep by then. Still they would call anyway, like they usually did, and their father would answer for her, like he usually did. He'd leave her a note so that when she woke up in the middle of the night, she'd know the kids were safe, and be able to go back to sleep easier.

"It's so quiet in here," she whispered, her words almost mournful as she stared out at the pictures spread out before them like a very jumbled, very personal museum exhibit. "It's so quiet without all the kids here."

"Just yesterday you were begging for _just one second _of silence," he recalled, mimicking the quick way she spoke when she was annoyed.

"Well, I've changed my mind," she replied, her voice sounding just as short coming out of her mouth as it had been in his mimicry. "I want the noise back."

He made a small sound of understanding and sympathy; he felt the same way, though he didn't always say it. He turned his head to press a kiss to her hair. "You miss them, hm?"

It was a rhetorical question that needed no answer, but she nodded anyway, pressing her cheek closer against his shoulder, and holding out her hand atop their legs, open and waiting for his. He took it in his at once, and folded their fingers together easily. Even if it had been a question he hadn't known the answer to, he would've known it by now. Her need to be close to him, and the way she so readily sought his touch, was enough to convey to him without words just how much she missed their children, and their children's children.

"I miss them too," her husband murmured, moving his arm so that it hugged her back instead of the couch, and brought them even closer. "Not the throw-up and the screaming of course," he continued, making her chuckle just as she was about to sigh, "but I like the house being full."

"Gracie said they'd come back for New Year's," she offered, perking up already at just the thought. Even as few as three more people would make this big house feel much less empty, and maybe even a bit livelier.

Her husband laughed at the mention. "You do know that she's only coming back so those two can get a free babysitter out of us, don't you? They've been cooped up in that tiny apartment with that baby for nearly a year now. They'll do anything to get a night off, even come back here."

Claire scoffed, lifting her head. "Do you hear me complaining, Ryan? I'll take her off their hands in a heartbeat." A moment later, she laid her head back on his shoulder again, and sighed wistfully, "I could watch that little girl all day any day."

Ryan made a noise in his throat that she took to be agreement.

"Have you seen the way Dave looks at her?" she asked, thinking of their son-in-law with such a fondness she couldn't even try to hide it. "He's enchanted," she continued, her eyes drifting to a picture on the right of their mantle. In it, Grace was smiling at the camera, holding her daughter towards the photographer, but her husband Dave's face was turned to the side, gazing down at his firstborn a look of awe on his face that hadn't since faded much. Claire nudged her husband at her side. "You used to look at Gracie like that, you know, just after she was born." She smiled, remembering, "I'd wake up in the middle of the night, and after searching the whole house, find you there in her room, just sitting by her crib, watching over her as she slept. You scared me half to death, you know," she added sternly, "disappearing in the middle of the night like that."

"She was a sweet little girl," was all Ryan murmured in reply.

Claire turned to him with a teasing smile, but a knowing look in her eyes. "Are you implying that she's not so sweet anymore?"

"I'm implying that she's a grown woman now," Ryan replied. "As hard as that is to believe." He sighed heavily as he scratched the back of his head, his forehead creased as if he was struggling through a difficult math problem of utmost importance whose relevant equations he'd long since forgotten. "Little Gracie, all grown up." He took in a large breath and released it slowly, as if reluctant to part with the air after it had spent time within his lungs. Though he had had to do it often, he never much liked letting go of things once they'd become close and dear to him. His mind was on his daughter once again when he muttered, sounding somewhere between insulted and choked up, "And now my little girl is having little girls of her own."

Claire squeezed his hand, a bit harder than usual, and pressed her side against his, all so that he could feel her there with him, next to him. Though their children had left, she was still here with him, and she wanted him to be aware of that. "You know she'll always be your little girl." Her eyes drifted to a small picture on the far left of the wall, of their daughter when she'd been only an infant; when she tore her eyes to find his, she discovered he was already looking at the photograph. She rubbed her fingers soothingly against his, and rested her chin on his shoulder as she spoke softly near his ear: "No one will take that from you, no one can, no matter how much you expect someone to be able to."

Her husband said nothing to that, and instead stared at the wall of his family before him in silence.

She allowed him to ignore her words; they had had conversations like this many, many times before, and so she knew he had listened to what she'd had to say at least a few times before. The talks used to occur daily, especially just after Grace had been born, but over the years, thankfully, he'd grown less fretful and more optimistic. She would've thought, all those years ago, that such was been impossible, but she used to think a lot of things were impossible that had turned out, in fact, to be more than possible.

"And look at him, too," Ryan murmured, nodding towards a frame sitting next to the one of Grace and Dave with their daughter. In it sat a picture of a man with red-brown hair, with a beautiful brunette woman by his side, and their three children surrounding them. The boys, seven and five at the time, sat on either side of their parents; the two adults cradled a third between them. A few years had passed since that photo had been taken, and since then, they had all only gotten older. "Joey's turning into an old man before my very eyes," Ryan continued incredulously, as if he hadn't seen him in decades and was under the impression that Joey had jumped from childhood to middle age in one bound. Ryan covered his forehead with a groan. "God," he mumbled, as if in great pain, "he makes me feel ancient."

"Maybe because you are ancient," his wife quipped, nudging his side again with a smile.

Her husband's returning smile came a few moments too late, and she knew just from that that he had his mind on other, less humorous matters. Usually, with company at the house, she kept her questioning of his moods to a minimum so that their conversations did not have to stray to unhappy territory. But as they were alone in the house now, she did not feel that same obligation.

"I know you feel guilty," she began quietly, taking his hand in both of hers so he wouldn't be able get up and walk away without taking her with him, "about missing part of his life, especially when you were there for every single second of Gracie's." Her husband made a dismissive noise in his throat, as if casting aside her words as mere guesswork, but she didn't stop there. "He holds nothing against you for not being there, and he has no reason to. You know that even if you still won't accept it," she added sternly. "Besides, he wasn't very old when we got married. He doesn't remember much of life before you came into it permanently."

"He remembers plenty," Ryan countered, in a tone that claimed he knew much more about the topic than her, and sought to conclude their discussion of it at once.

Ignoring that as he had earlier ignored her, Claire left him with her last word on the subject instead of letting him have it: "He doesn't live in the past anymore. He lives in the present, and in the future—as he should." She had been eyeing her husband intently all the while she said this, but as she finished, her gaze flickered down and away. "You and I should probably try to learn a bit from him, huh?"

Ryan didn't say anything to that, but the large sigh he heaved was enough of an answer. She could almost hear him grumble, _Fine, _even though not a single syllable left his lips.

"Come on," she called, rising to her feet and tugging on his hand that she still held in both of hers. "We should go up to bed."

He didn't argue with that even the slightest, and they walked up to their bedroom amiably, as they made a point to do every night. It had been decades since they'd gone to bed truly angry at one another.

They were changing out of their clothes and into pajamas when Ryan broke the silence and threw out quietly, "Did Gracie say anything to you, about more kids?"

Claire couldn't stop herself from laughing aloud. "She just had Hannah nine months ago!" She turned her head, catching his eye with a questionable look in hers. "Already, you want her to have another?"

"I'm just wondering," Ryan replied, a defensive edge sharpening his tone. He softened a second later, "It… It isn't something a girl talks about with her father. I thought… Well, you know, I thought maybe she'd said something to you."

"She didn't say anything to me," Claire replied after a moment. Though she hadn't been sad about that before, she was sad to tell him. She may've imagined his shoulders drooping, but that still didn't change the fact that he was probably disappointed. "Though I'm sure when they're thinking about it, she'll mention something," she added, not wanting to leave him without hope. He had such a hard time finding it by himself.

"Joey said he and Sam are done, after Owen," he told her pointedly, as if offering up evidence that his earlier question had had a pure purpose, and was relevant. "So Gracie's all we've got left."

Claire smiled to herself as she buttoned up her nightshirt. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that…"

She could almost see a light bulb go off above her husband's head when she turned around to join him in bed. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Sam wants more kids," Claire answered simply. "She's always wanted a lot of kids, you know that."

Her husband remained skeptical. "When you have three boys under the age of ten living under your roof, I think it tends to bend your wants, even if you started out wanting a dozen of them."

"Well, I think there will be at least one or two more," Claire replied, in a mysterious tone that hinted that she knew a good deal more about the facts of the matter than he did. She smiled over at him as she settled beneath the covers with him. "Just you wait."

"I hope I don't have to wait too long," Ryan muttered, roughing up his pillow until it was the right shape. "You never know how much longer this old man's going to last," he murmured darkly to himself.

"Stop it!" Claire reprimanded, smacking him at once. He winced, rubbing his shoulder; that had actually hurt. He always told her she was stronger than she knew, but she'd never taken that into account when it came to him. He was staring to think she did so on purpose. "Don't talk like that," she ordered, pointing her finger at him. "I don't want to hear you talk like that."

"I'm just being realistic," he replied calmly, gently pushing her index finger out of his face. "You and I both know I'm older than you, and not as healthy as you, and—"

"I don't care," Claire snapped, not bothering not let him finish. "You're not going anywhere. And making crass jokes about it is _not _funny—"

"I want to see all my grandchildren before I die," he told her bluntly. "I don't see why you feel the need to rake me over the coals for that; it isn't that strange of a request. Next time you talk to Joey and Gracie, you tell them—"

She held up her hand, having had enough. "No. No, I will not be telling them anything. If you want to see more grandchildren so bad, _you_ tell Joey and Gracie you want that. Don't make me be your messenger. I will not be the overbearing grandmother that asks again and again when more babies will come."

Ryan made a face at her. "So you want _me _to be the overbearing grandparent, is that it?"

"Well, clearly you already are!" she exclaimed. "It's all you've talked about since they left!" She shook her head, "Look, Joey and Grace grew up a decade apart, practically as only children for most of their lives. _That_ is family to them. If you want either of them to have something different than that, or to move faster, then _tell them, _for god's sake! The worst that will happen is they'll say they don't want that, and then the matter's closed. It isn't so bad to just have a talk with them."

Ryan looked affronted. "I am _not_ talking to Gracie about that."

Claire groaned, rolling her eyes. Of course he would latch onto only one tiny bit of all that she'd said. She supposed she should've gotten used to it by now; he had made ignoring her a habit over the years. "Then talk to Dave! Talk to Joey! If you really want—"

"Joey isn't a problem," Ryan cut in. "I've gotten to know his kids."

"Oh…" A smile spread across Claire's face, she was as amused as she knew Joey would be if he could overhear this conversation. "So now Grace is a problem? The perfect little apple of Daddy's eye is a big old problem, is she?"

"That isn't what I meant," Ryan muttered unhappily, shifting in bed to relieve the stress and annoyance of this conversation. "I just meant…" He sighed, changing his mind. "I just meant," he began anew, "that I've been around to see Joey have his own family. I've gotten to be a part of it. But Gracie's so young and I'm… Well, I'm getting pretty damn old. I don't…" He closed his eyes, finding it easier to speak when he imagined no one was listening. "I don't want to be a hazy memory to her kids. I want to be real to them."

"You will be real to them," his wife comforted him, her hands taking his and squeezing them tightly, as if to remind him he was still alive. "You're real to Hannah already, and as she gets older, she'll get to know you better. It just takes time."

"And I don't have all the time I used to have," Ryan replied, opening his eyes to gaze sorrowfully into hers. She bit down on the inside of her lip; she knew he needed reassurance here and she wasn't sure what she could say that he would believe. "If I die," he began softly, and she was glad she was biting her lip because just those words nearly made her cry out, "If I die before the rest are born, or before they get a chance to know me, I want you to tell them about me. Claire, promise me you'll tell them about me."

There had been tears starting to gather in her eyes when he'd begun to speak, but by the time he'd finished, she'd blinked them away and was even smiling. "They'll ask me to shut up about you," she told him, "because I will never stop talking about you if you're gone. I will talk and talk and talk until they know every last detail, right down to how much you weighed when you were born."

Just the thought of that—though he would be gone when it occurred—made him smile. "We'll agree to leave out the more unsavory details, won't we?"

She smiled, but didn't nod. Somehow even that didn't bother him so much, and still made him smile.

"But you're not going anywhere," she added, her voice growing strong and firm again. Her right hand fumbled around for his left; once she had it, she rubbed her thumb over the gold wedding band on his ring finger. She never took her eyes off of his. "You remember, you promised me you'd never go anywhere without me. You swore we'd be together no matter where either of us went."

He nodded, remembering briefly the vows they'd said in public, and letting his mind linger on those they exchanged in private, late that night after the ceremony and the celebration was over. They'd sworn many things to one another that night, and he remembered each and every one. "I did promise that," he agreed softly.

"I don't like men who break their promises to me," his wife warned him. "Not at all."

He smiled, laying back against the pillows. "Maybe one of these days I'll learn how to be the kind of man you like, then."

"Oh stop," she whispered, taking his face in her hands at once to put an end to his meaningless jokes. "Just stop."

He smiled at her, his eyes bright as they gazed into hers. He shifted up in bed so he could turn his head and press a kiss to each of her palms as she held his aged cheeks in her aged hands.

"Still want me to stop?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her, and pressing a kiss to her jawline, and her neck.

"Mm-mm," she shook her head, turning in his arms. "Keep going as long as you like."

He smiled, moving his body to match up to hers as she turned on her side to lie down. She could feel his front pressed against her back, and his arms around her, and his warm breath passing over her shoulder. She didn't ever want to feel anything else.

"I love you," he whispered, brushing away some of her hair to press a kiss to the side of her face. When he closed his eyes, he could remember them lying in bed like this when they had been young; it felt like that had all happened so, so long ago, almost in a different life.

"I love you too," she whispered, turning her head to meet his. Their lips joined together once, and then once more, before breaking apart. They settled back down together and fell asleep, as carefree and comfortable that night as they had been for thousands of nights before.

. . .

. . .

**Author's Note: **Writing this piece was probably one of the most fun and most relaxing things I've had the pleasure to write in a long, long time. Elderly Ryan & Claire just melt my heart.

I would love to hear what you guys thought below! :) Thank you for reading!


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